Chapter 10

Pinpricks of worry zipped up my spine, my fingertips numb. I grasped for Aspen. “What is it?”

“When can you get here?”

It felt like my heart was about to leap out of my chest. “Am I under arrest?”

“I just have a few questions to ask. It shouldn’t take long.”

“You didn’t answer my question, so I’ll ask again. Am I under arrest?” Tunnel vision began closing in, implying an approaching panic attack. I wrapped my arm around Aspen and laid my cheek against his silky fur.

“Not at this time.”

I began to do four-square breathing, a technique I taught clients—four seconds in; hold for four; four seconds out; hold for four. By the end of the second cycle, my heart rate slowed to a near-safe level, and the tunnel vision disappeared.

“Ms. Kaczmarek, are you there?”

“Yes. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’m innocent and have nothing to hide.”

This was the perfect time to call Sister Alice if there ever was one. As soon as I disconnected from Detective Griffin, I punched in her number and got her voice recording, so I left a brief message. “Hi, Sister Alice, this is Andie Rose. Call me when you get a minute? Um—thanks.” 

I kneeled beside Aspen, my arms around his neck, and laid my head against him. “I’ve gotta be dreaming and living someone else’s life since last evening.” 

As if sensing my distress, he leaned into me and laid one paw on my leg. I sat down, crisscrossed my legs, and he lay down beside me, resting his nose on my knee. I ran my fingers through his silky coat as I mentally traveled through the events of last evening at the pub. And that’s when it struck me like a hand grenade. I think I knew exactly what Detective Griffin wanted to talk to me about, and I thought I might be sick. The table next to Brad and me—they’d been drinking wine. I remembered what I assumed to be a pricy bottle of wine since it required a corkscrew opener, not the cheap Boone’s Farm or Tj Swan I used to drink. I remembered picking up the corkscrew as a fidgeter during the uncomfortable conversation with Brad. But how was it that that particular corkscrew was the murder weapon? Had Ivan somehow gotten hold of it? But obviously, he didn’t kill himself with it. 

I tried to remember in more detail the people sitting at the table—I’d never seen them before, and they didn’t seem to know Ivan. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. And I hadn’t been paying much attention to them. I was too fixated on my situation. 

I shook my head. No, that’s ridiculous. There was no way it was the same corkscrew. This mess had my mind on an out-of-control rollercoaster. I pumped on the brakes before I hurtled off the rail.

The thrum of Sister Alice’s moped, with the unmistakable rattle, neared. I hopped up, and Aspen followed suit. We trotted to the front of the inn, where Sister Alice unfastened her helmet, slipped it off, and spiked her flattened hair with her hand. She removed her goggles from over her eyeglasses. 

“Darn bugs wreak havoc on my lenses,” she said.

I pulled a tissue from my pocket and handed it to her. “Here. I thought maybe you were already in bed. Does Sister Ida or Father Vincent know you’re out roaming the streets so late?” 

“Ha,” she scoffed. “Sisters aren’t the boring, snoring folk people think we are.”

“Oh, I knew that as soon as I met you.”

She grinned, as if proud of the accusation. 

“Sister Ida’s the only one I need to sneak past, not Father Vincent. He holds no authority over us. But Sister Ida—Uffda. That woman is suspicious every time I leave the house.”

Father Vincent was the beloved priest at St. Michael’s, and undoubtedly, relieved he had no authority over Sister Alice. Sister Ida, the sister moderator, tried to keep Sister Alice in line—often unsuccessfully. Polar opposites, those two.

“Did you ever think she might have a reason for that?”

She cast me a look—the one that said keep your opinions to yourself—and draped the strap of her helmet on the handlebar. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

“It’s been quite the afternoon, and then I got bombshell news right before I called you.” 

“I offer to be your sponsor, and you immediately hit me up with a problem.”

“You didn’t offer. You told me.” 

She grinned and hung her goggles beside her helmet. “That’s neither here nor there. But I’m here. What can I do?” 

Aspen lay at my feet as if sensing this could take a while.

“You could have just called me back, you know. You didn’t have to drive out here.”

“I didn’t know if I’d be doing some kind of intervention.”

I chuckled. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Inside or out here?”

“Out here while weather allows. I know all too well its end is near.” As a Minnesota native, I knew winter weather could arrive unexpectedly at any time; the brutal cold, thigh-high snow lucky to melt before April or May, and roads layered in ice that meant ice melt that destroyed cars. I motioned toward the back. “Let’s go on the dock. That’s where Aspen and I were when you arrived.” 

“Better a ghost overhears than a guest, I guess.”

I stopped and turned toward her. “Hey, I’ve been noticing the weirdest thing—”

She dropped her chin and locked her gaze on mine. “Weirder than finding a body in your kitchen?”

“Are you familiar with the novel The Woman in Black? Probably not,” I answered before she could.

She frowned. “What, we sisters don’t read?”

“Probably not those kinds of books.”

“We read more than the Bible, you know. Hang out with me, and you’ll know how exciting the life of a sister really is. Well, all except Sister Ida’s,” she muttered. “The Woman in Black—is that the ghost story about a small English town?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” We started walking again, Aspen close by my legs. The air was getting chillier with the breeze blowing off the lake, and I wondered if we should have gone inside instead. All the same, we continued toward the dock. “The book keeps showing up on a chair or table in the library. I re-shelved it twice, but lo-and-behold, it will be out again.”

“Why are you shelving it? Making work for the person who’s reading it isn’t very guest friendly.”

“You think that’s what it is? A guest leaving it out?”

“What else would it—” she stopped and stared at me. Through laughter, she said, “You thought it was the ghost?”

I waited until she got it together, hands on my hips. “Are you done?”

“Sure.” Another chuckle escaped her lips, but she silenced it. “If a ghost wants you to know it’s there, you’ll know. Guessing will only drive you crazy. Crazy will drive you to drink.” She took my hand. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

For the next half hour, we sat on the dock, legs crossed in front of us, Aspen between us. I relayed the conversation between Detective Griffin and myself before the conversation shifted to unrelated events, but a lively chat, as were all conversations with Sister Alice.

Finally, I said, “By avoiding the obvious topic here, are you telling me you think I have valid cause for concern?”

“I’m telling you that you cannot let this consume you, or it will bury you. There’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Tomorrow, after you’ve met with him, we’ll go from there. So get some sleep and be ready.”

“Sister Alice, I’m already spending time tomorrow getting an attorney—if I decide to go that route. Having an attorney makes me look guilty when I’m not. I can’t take any more time away from the inn. I need to help Tony in the kitchen.”

“We’ll figure something out. I can talk to the ladies from the Spirited Women’s Society at St. Michael’s. They help with meals for funerals, weddings, and such. Maybe they can pitch in with kitchen duties.” 

I stuck out my tongue. “Church food tastes like hospital food. I remember the food they made for Grandpop and Honey’s funerals. No, thank you.” Then, just to get her goat, I added, “Maybe I’ll check in with the Gals and Grace Society. We have pretty high standards here at the inn.” Gals and Grace was the women’s group at the rivaled Protestant church, Spirit Vineyard.

She studied me over the rims of her glasses. “Don’t be a snob, Andie Rose. Some ladies in the Spirited Women’s Society are better cooks than Ivan ever was. And they’re definitely better than that other group.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“You have no other options right now, Grasshopper.”

My phone rang, and I looked at the display. “Great, it’s Brad. I hope he’s not calling for an answer.” At the mention of Brad, Aspen crossed his paws and buried his snout between them. 

“You’ve got an answer, so give it to him. What are you waiting for?”

“It’s not that simple.” Except I knew it was. Putting off the inevitable would only cause the wound to fester.

She waved at me. “Take the call. I’ll head home and see you tomorrow.”

I waved at her and clicked the button on my phone. 

“Hey, Brad.” 

“What the hell, Andie Rose?”

His tone left me dumbstruck. He rarely got emotional, much less upset, which, oddly, was one thing that made me question his feelings toward me.

“What did you do?”

I took a deep breath before replying. “First of all, how about a ‘Hi, Andie Rose. How are you this evening?’ ”

“Sorry, but imagine my shock when I listened to voicemails and got one from some guy by the name of Detective Griffin, requesting my immediate response. Oh, yeah, and he just threw in a comment about a murder at the inn and that you’re the one who found the body. What happened? Are you a suspect?”

“Your support is heart-warming, Brad,” I said dryly. 

“Tell me you didn’t do it, and I’ll believe you. You know I will.”

“That you even have to ask leaves a big question mark in my head.”

“About what?”

“About us.” My retort was harsher than intended. 

“Come on, Andie Rose,” he said in a tone that attempted to placate me but only raised my ire. “You know I trust you. And we’re perfectly fine. Nothing that we can’t get back on track. But what happened?”

Doing my best to digest his ignorance about us, I filled him in on the latest news. “Long story short, the victim was killed with a corkscrew in the kitchen here at the inn. I remember fidgeting with one I’d picked up from the table next to us when we were talking.”

“I don’t remember you doing that. Why?”

“Why what?” His question confused me.

“Why did you fidget with the corkscrew? Were you that upset at my proposal?”

Whether he was serious or it was an ill-timed joke, my nostrils flared. I took a deep breath and counted to five.

“I don’t know, Brad,” I said in exasperation. “I guess I was nervous. But the server cleared off the table before we left. I’m sure of it.” Was I though? Now I couldn’t remember. 

“Did you take it home with you?”

I gasped at his nerve. “The corkscrew?”

“Yes.”

Another deep breath, and another count to five. “Are you asking me if I used it on Ivan?”

“No. Only trying to figure out how it got to the inn.”

“You and me both,” I lashed out. “But I don’t appreciate your implication.”

“Andie Rose, be reasonable. I’m not implying anything. You know I trust you. I’m just trying to make sense of this.”

“Worried about how it will look to your co-workers and employer if word gets out, Brad?”

“That’s not fair, Andie. But, yeah, now that you mention it, it wouldn’t look good, that’s for sure.”

Stupefied, I couldn’t find anything to say that I wouldn’t later regret, so I clamped my lips tight. 

“Andie Rose? You know I didn’t mean it like that. Come on.”

“No, Brad.”

“No what?”

“I don’t want to get married.”

I heard his heaved sigh across the line. “You’re understandably upset, babe. Let’s talk about this later.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my cheek. “I have to go. There’s a guest who needs attention,” I lied.

“I’ll call Detective Griffin back in the morning and let you know what happens.”

“Okay,” I said stiffly.

Without even realizing I’d done so, I found myself back inside the inn and by the front desk. Lily had already left, and a note lay in front of the computer. Left at eight-fifteen. Didn’t know where you were to say goodbye. See you tomorrow morning. Have a good night.

“Too late for that,” I muttered. I looked at my exercise watch—eight forty-five and only a measly 8,217 steps today. The way tomorrow morning was shaping up, I’d have to miss another day of running around the lake. As much as I hated to miss enjoying the brightly colored leaves, hearing them crunch beneath my feet, and the prominent smells of fall, I didn’t know who would be more disappointed, Aspen or me. He gave a short whimper quietly at my side, as if sensing his morning doom.